


Lost Souls, Found Families

by ElaneTheTired



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang is still stuck in the ice, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Dragons, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Northern Water Tribe, Order of the White Lotus, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Parental Hakoda (Avatar), Past Child Abuse, Southern Water Tribe, Toph will be here eventually, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, but its okay now, but later, sokka and katara are good siblings, they are a better family than the fire nation, we don't need the avatar to save the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElaneTheTired/pseuds/ElaneTheTired
Summary: Firelord Ozai decides that banishment isn't a permanent enough way of removing his eldest son from the line of succession, and instead orders him to be shipped away from the Fire Nation, and discretely dispatched. By the efforts of prince Iroh and various spirits the execution of Ozai's orders does not go quite as planned, and instead prince Zuko gains a new family at the south pole.Join the three water tribe siblings on their journey across nations and continents to master their power and restore the balance. Who needs the avatar to save the world?
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to my first and only (for now) fic in the avatar fandom. This is the implementation of an Idea I've had for a while, and even though I have a lot of the outline, I'm not sure how much of it I will actually write. So if you're interested, please leave comments and kudos to let me know, it gives me motivation to write!
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy.

Iroh should have seen it coming when Ozai agreed to let him go. He should have seen it in that elegant, indifferent shrug that said  _ if you want to throw your life away for that failure, it is your choice, and clearly not my problem.  _ He should have seen it in the cold, calculating light in his brother's eyes, devising a way to get rid of another unexpected obstacle. 

He should have seen it in the way Azula smiled at him from her father's side, like she was privy to a joke he could not understand. (In the way she stared into the distance when she thought no one could see, hand twitching involuntarily, as if reaching for something that had already slipped her grasp).

He should have noticed it in all the small details that didn't go quite according to his plans; the timing that got changed at the last moment, the supplies that suddenly ran out. The brief frowns of uncertainty on the faces of his people when they reported that everything was under control.

Iroh should have seen it. But it was all he could do not to kill his brother when in the same room with the man, giving in to the urge to wipe away that nasty smirk with cleansing fire. Couldn't look at his niece, because her smile was too much like her father's, because a small part of him whispered that he was leaving her in the clutches of the monster, that she could still be saved. Couldn't quite meet the gaze of those who were loyal to him, because somehow he felt that he had failed them, too, both as a leader and as a personal example.

He spent all the time since the Agni Kai planing, throwing himself into all the endless preparations with the desperation of a drowning man. Because if he stopped he might drown in the endless ocean of his guilt and the sound of a boy's screams still echoing in his ears. Because if he stopped, he might snatch Zuko and drag him to the healers in the north pole, war and caution and white lotus be damned.

Iroh saw them now, all the subtle signs and mistakes that had led him here, to this empty dock, as he stood upon it like he had once stood on the breached outer wall of Ba Sing Se. He saw them all clearly, laid before him like pieces on a board of Pai Sho, and felt his heart bleed once more as the trap snapped shut on another one of his sons. As once again, he was too late.

***

Zuko woke up to a world of contrasts. His face was a center of pulsating agony, while the rest of his body was heavy and numb, as if all the sensation in him was used up to fuel that one spot. The metal floor beneath him was hard and cold, but he could barely feel it through the heat that was consuming his body. 

Zuko thought he was shivering. Or maybe it was the world that shook, making the image in his good eye blur around the edges. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, really. The world was just shattered, after all, set on its head and struck down with the harsh blow of a calloused hand trailing smoke and fire… Zuko didn't blame the world for being afraid.

It was dark. Zuko was thankful for that, because light meant flame, and flame was unbearable heat that was almost cold, and cruel smiles and harsh words and the smell of burning flesh… he wrenched himself away from the memories. He knew, in the shard of himself that was a prince and a loyal son, that such thoughts were shameful, that a firebender afraid of fire wasn't worthy of Agni's gift. He knew he should hate himself for this, and would, when he could gather enough energy to care.

Instead he tried to remember what had happened since the Ag- since  _ that _ day, but all the memories were chopped and hazy, blurred by pain and painkillers. He remembered the smell of jasmine tea, the tired, wrinkled face of a man changing his bandages (where had those gone?). He remembered Azula, murmuring confused words into his ear that didn't at all match the chilling smile on her lips. 

Zuko decided that last part must have been a drug-induced hallucination. Still, he felt a pang of guilt thinking of his little sister, who was now alone with father and his hands and his smiles, and his words that were never as harsh to her as they were to him (at least not on the surface). She was alone with him, and Zuko wasn't there anymore to draw the Firelord's ire, to remind her that she could take a break sometimes, that she didn't need to train herself into the ground, because compared to him she  _ was _ perfect. She was alone, and he was…

He was banished, wasn't he? He remembered that too, the message delivered to him in the emotionless voice of a servant during one of his moments of clarity. "Prince Zuko, by royal decree of the glorious Firelord Ozai, blessed voice of Agni, you are hereby banished from the fire nation and all its territories, with no right of return. The penalty for breaking the terms of your banishment is death by execution."

Two sentences that sealed his fate, one servant in palace finery, with something dangerously close to pity gleaming in his eyes, and one banished prince, that couldn't bring himself to care.  _ I was never too good with math anyway,  _ giggled something childish and alarmingly juvenile in the empty caverns of Zuko's brain.

Thoughts continued to appear in his brain, seemingly out of nowhere. They flowed into one another, moving in circles or spirals or tangles or broken tangents, but never in a straight line. They continued to move for a time that was both infinitesimal and infinite, slowing and speeding up again, flowing and ebbing like the tides.

Then there was flame. The thought of moving had not occurred to Zuko until right then, and in that moment he was both terrified and dismayed to discover that he couldn't. Not because of the chains that bound him (Chains? Why were there chains? Had they been there all along?), but simply because his traitorous body refused to obey him.

The flickering torch, carried by one of the two scary-looking men that had so unceremoniously barged into Zuko's small universe of agony and darkness, illuminated a bare metal corridor and the thick metal bars that separated the prince from it, only a few paces away from his face. 

_ A cell,  _ supplied his brain helpfully,  _ you are chained to the wall of a cell. On a ship, too, if the swaying is anything to go by.  _ The thought was purely analytical, inducing no change in Zuko's emotions, though he knew it probably should. He was supposed to be confused, wasn't he? He should feel betrayed, indignant, afraid? Somehow this scenario made perfect sense to him though, and the only thing he could find in the barren terrain of his heart was mild curiosity.

Zuko flinched as the circle of flickering light created by the torch finally reached him. The two men (No, soldiers, they were distinctly soldiers now that he could see the gleam of their armour) stopped in front of his cell, looking down at him.

"So, the little brat is finally awake, eh?" Asked the one holding the torch, sounding mildly surprised. He had dark eyes that seemed black in the torchlight, and a raspy, unpleasant voice. "Must say I'm impressed. That wound seems nasty enough, not many'd wake up after they got such to the face, 'specially kids. Maybe there's some of Sozin's blood in this pup after all."

The other soldier snickered. "Not enough for the Firelord to keep him, apparently."  _ Even the people think I am weak, I really need to work on my public image,  _ thought the part of Zuko that was accustomed to dealing with court politics (however poorly).  _ I am not a prince anymore, not really, _ thought the realist part of him.  _ The people can think whatever they damn please. They are right, anyway. _

_ I should probably ask about the chains, it is… unusual,  _ he decided, and opened his mouth to do so. That action achieved two things - the first was aggravating his wound and sending a spike of hot pain through his entire face, making him whimper and curl up on himself a little tighter. The second was informing him that his throat was dry as a desert, and would not be able to make a coherent sound even if he could move his lips without crying like a baby.

The question must have shown clearly enough on his face (what was left of it) though, because the second guard snorted in amusement. "Wonder how you got here,  _ your highness _ ?" A few days (weeks? months?) ago Zuko would have been furious at the obvious mocking in the man's voice. But fury required heat and strength, and the floor was so cold and he was so, so numb…

The guard grinned (it was a different smile from his father's, wide and toothy where Ozai's was thin and sharp as a knife) then cleared his throat and stood straighter. He puffed out his chest and started talking in a pompous, exaggerated manner, making a poor imitation of a royal messenger.

"Your father, our most esteemed, glorious firelord, commanded us to inform you that you are a coward and a failure, and you are therefore disowned, in order for your sister to take the throne in your stead, when the time comes. As such, we were commanded to take you far enough from the homeland that no questions will arise, and arrange an 'accident' for you."

The man grinned, dropping his act and squatting so he could look closely at Zuko. "That's why you, little brat, are going to stay right here in this cell 'till we get far enough south that nobody will see us when we dump you overboard." His smile became wider still, so wide Zuko could count all his teeth (3 were missing, he noted distractedly) and smell his breath (it smelled of cheap firewhisky).

"But you aren't going to fight, you see. 'Cause you're a week, useless nobody, and 'cause no one in the crew will help you anyway. We were 'specially hired, y'know." He looked away from Zuko for a moment to smirk at his companion, who snickered back at him. "That's why," he drawled, hand reaching through the bars, "you are going to be an obedient little pup, let us poor ol' sailors have some little harmless fun, and die when we tell you. Isn't that right?" The question was punctuated by a harmless, little pinch to his left cheek, like peculiar noble women used to give him on official occasions when he was little. Only he wasn't little anymore, and this wasn't a party, and his face wasn't (and will never be) what it used to.

Zuko screamed.

***

Takumi was widely considered to be a calm, capable man among his friends and comrades. His stately demeanour and ability to think clearly in a time of crisis had earned him rank in the military, and later respect and deference among his brothers in the white lotus. And though initially Takumi dismissed the idea that anything about his mannerisms was special, eventually even he had come to see himself as a center of stability when times were rough.

It made the sense of despair and panic that were slowly but surely chipping away at his inner calm all the more alarming.

For the last three weeks (was it really? Felt like forever) he had been adrift at sea, on a rusty bucket that could barely be called a ship, alone with a crew of sadists, criminals and drunkards and one wounded child. Takumi didn't know where it all went wrong.

(When the ship sailed from the wrong dock at the wrong hour, with the General nowhere to be seen. When the firelord decided it was appropriate to burn off his son's face for speaking out of turn. When the firelord's grandfather gave the command to wipe out a whole people.)

At first he was alarmed and confused, but the other crew members quickly clarified the situation (they didn't bother to keep quiet about the mission they were given, not out at sea where no one else could hear). 

That had set his blood boiling. He had rushed down to the cellars then, just to see the small prince, still unconscious, laid on the cold floor, bound arm and foot. It was the first crack in Takumi's facade. Only the years-long habit to think first and act second prevented him from going on a rampage, taking as many of the crew down with himself and the prince as he could.

As the days wore on and he failed to come up with a plan, panic started setting in. There were no messenger hawks on the ship, so he couldn't contact the general. (He hoped that the old dragon had enough strength left in him to resist killing his brother for a while longer. For all of their sakes). They did not stop for supplies, wouldn't until they reached their destination, so he could not sneak the prince off somewhere safe.

He could not fight the whole crew - Takumi was an average firebender at best, and the people the firelord hired were capable fighters, both benders and not. That left him with no options but to wait and try to blend in, meanwhile keeping the injured boy alive to the best of his ability.

The prince woke a week into their journey south. The first time Takumi saw him, he was curled up tightly, pale as bone and too thin, still shaking from his encounter with that scum that had the gall to call themselves soldiers. Takumi tried to help, to calm the boy down and reassure him, but there was no point. The feverish prince didn't seem to understand what he was saying, just cowered and flinched away from Takumi and the flame he carried.

So started the worst - and longest - stretch of this endless journey. He watched day by day, helpless, as the men abused a wounded kid. He covertly tried to care for the boy's wound, to give him extra water and rations. He was terrified to observe how each day his condition got worse, strength dwindling and running out until even his screams petered out into pitiful mewling.

(Sometimes, in despair, he thought of giving his prince a quick death, cutting short his suffering at the hands of these animals.)

(Other times, he repeated to himself the names of all men on the ship, like a mantra. He would deliver them to the General if it was the last thing he ever did. Takumi knew that any form of retribution he himself could think up would pale in comparison to what the Dragon of the West could come up with.)

Though the time spent aboard the accursed ship seemed to drag on and on endlessly, Takumi was still surprised when it abruptly ran out. One day, sitting in the mess hall, lost in frantic brainstorming as he was most of the time these days, he overheard the helmsman (a harsh woman by the name of Natsuko) talking to the captain of the ship. (His name was Tenpi. He was as harsh to the crew as he was to their prisoner, and Takumi planned to attend when the General punished this specific psychopath).

"I think it's time, captain" reported Natsuko in the cold, indifferent tone she used for everyone, but especially superior officers.

"If we keep sailing in the same direction for a few more days we will crash on the southern air temple. I would take one more night to be sure, but tomorrow will be safe to get rid of our  _ baggage _ and return home." The report was made in an indifferent tone, as if she couldn't care less what the captain would decide. Takumi knew it was a lie. The whole crew, like most fire nation people, hated being this far from the equator.

Takumi also knew he should be concentrating on entirely different things right now. He held his breath, dreading the captain's reply.

Tenpi squinted at his helmsman, cold brown eyes calculating, as if trying to decide the probability that she was lying just to get home sooner. Tenpi knew the price paid by those who didn't execute the firelord's orders to the letter, but he wasn't sure the rest of his crew were smart enough for such precautions.

Finally, he nodded slowly. "Tomorrow morning then. And then we can finally get out of these damn frigid waters."

Takumi sat in the mess hall long after everyone else of his shift went to bed, staring desolately at his half-empty bowl of stew. The prince was to be executed tomorrow, and there was nothing he could do about it. Takumi hated himself at that moment, for how helpless he was in the face of other's cruelty, for not being able to save one innocent boy from his own father.

_ No,  _ he thought, pulling together the shreds of his calm and determination.  _ I will not give up. I might not be able to save the boy, but I can still give him a chance, however slim.  _ He got up abruptly, bowl forgotten. There was much to do if he was going to act out on this insane plan that had just crystallized in his exhausted brain.

***

It was laughably easy, really. A few pinches of dried, red coal-flower snuck into the bowl that held the next shift's breakfast would make the guards sleepy, easy to subdue. Keys for the prince's cell snatched from a careless crewman's belt. From there it was just a matter of choosing one of the small boats attached to the ship, and making sure it wouldn't sink the moment it hit water.

The prince was asleep when Takumi came for him, but woke up at the sound of keys jingling in the lock of his cell. A frightened, feverish golden eye looked up at him, the second one still shut and oozing a foul yellowish liquid. Takumi put the torch aside as he unlocked the boy's cuffs, mindful of his aversion to fire.

Takumi murmured gentle nothings into the prince's ear as he picked the boy up. He tried not to think about how unnaturally light the body in his hands was, how even the smallest shift must be causing pain. Instead he concentrated on staying quiet and keeping his flame as small as possible.

Everything was going according to plan… right up until it wasn't. He was lowering the boat into the water when the alarm rang. Takumi cursed under his breath, frantically finishing his task with a few more tugs on the rope, and then turning to greet the advancing firebenders.

In the back of his mind he noted that once again, as happened far too often of late, Takumi didn't know where he had gone wrong. Maybe it was a guard that had a resistance to the drug, or maybe someone had forgone breakfast in favor of some more sleep. It didn't really matter now, did it?

Takumi threw one last glance behind him, and was satisfied that the currents were swiftly guiding the small boat away from the ship and into the predawn darkness. Then he threw himself into battle, finally allowing his body to do what he had so badly wanted to those last few weeks - burn and punish for the pain inflicted upon the innocent. Takumi channeled all his frustration, helplessness and anger into the fight, and noted with pride that the General's teachings had not gone in vain - his style was perfect. Of course it didn't last long; soon there were just too many of them, and he was overwhelmed.

Agni's great eye peeked over the horizon to witness another one of his few uncorrupted children going down in flames, a prayer on his lips for the well-being of one banished prince.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agni isn't happy with the actions of his children, and Chief Hakoda receives an unexpected gift(?) from the sea.

Agni looked on sadly as another one of his children was cut down by his brethren. Well, not one. Across the earth, hundreds, thousands of his children fought, bled and died at the hands of others.

The ancient spirit was tired. It has been so long - even by spirit standards - since the earth he shone upon was at peace. For a hundred years now, his children have been destroying any and all who happened upon their path.

It was his mistake, partially. He had sensed their building anger, the disturbances and violent flashes, before. He had elected to ignore it, knowing that though his children were sometimes wayward, they always found their path eventually. And then…

Agni couldn't interfere, not really, not in any way that mattered. None of them could, under the unspoken rules of their realm. And so he hovered in the sky and watched, as those who were supposed to fill it with their joy were reduced to ashes on the wind. As his children marched on Tui's favorites, and on the earth's steadfast defenders. As the dragons -  _ his babies, his firstborn _ \- were brutally murdered. 

He watched as his children followed their leaders deeper and deeper into folly, those fools who called themselves his  _ mortal voice _ . He raged and thundered. He shouted and blazed for all the spirit world to hear, even Tui's gentle consolations and admonishments unable to mellow his temper. He sank into apathy, the sun's rays slowly but surely losing their luster. At least that served to weaken the fires that lived in the hearts of his people.

And now he looked down at his last hope, so small and fragile, alone in La's domain. His fire - still pure and uncorrupted, despite his fool father's best attempts - was almost snuffed out, reduced to barely simmering embers. Agni could not allow that.

_ Tui  _ he called through the warping, twisting dimensions of his home realm. The silence stretched, and the ancient god began to worry - it has been a long time since he had spoken to his sister, and their last conversation hadn't exactly ended on a happy note.

_ Tui, please, this is important to me. I- _

_ I hear you, little brother.  _ As always, her voice served to soothe him, alleviating the pressure of all that simmered in the core of his being.  _ I am glad to hear your voice again. Now, what is it that is so important as to force you out of your solitude? _

_ One of my children is currently in La's domain. His flame is almost snuffed, sister. I need someone to take better care of him then my people did.  _ He stopped for a moment, the words hanging bitter between them.

_ Please. He is the last hope of my children, and maybe yours too. Talk to your…  _ lover _ … guide him to your southern children. I think they will be good for him. _

_ All those centuries, and you still hold a grudge against my beloved.  _ Tui's laughter enveloped him, tinkling like bells in a cool midnight breeze.

_ You haven't changed, Agni, and that is good. We will help your chosen, do not worry. Stay in touch, little brother.  _ The ancient spirit felt his sister's presence withdraw. 

_ Thank you,  _ he whispered into the void. As the day wore on, his rays shone just a little brighter than usual.

***

_ The spirits must be blessing our hunt,  _ mused chief Hakoda of the southern water tribe as he oversaw the skinning and salting of their latest catch. 

(He wasn't far from the truth. The small ocean and ice spirits were indeed helping someone, it just wasn't Hakoda's warriors).

This expedition, a yearly occurrence meant to supply the tribe with enough food to last the winter, has gone without a hitch, almost suspiciously so. The whale-walruses and puffin-seals seemed to find the small fleet on their own, and the fish practically swarmed into their nets.

There had been only one injury, and even that was light and caused by Uglu's own foolishness. Seriously. The warrior was young, granted, but even his Sokka at the tender age of eleven knew to avoid sharp objects moving at high velocity, such as  _ the tusks of a charging angry whale-walrus.  _ The chief huffed in amusement. Tingenek, the tribe's only male healer (read: field medic), said the boy would be able to move his arm again in about a week.

By which time, it seemed, they would be back home. Their hold was almost full now, and what little was left could be filled on the way back. Their prey had drawn them much further north than usual, but even so they would be a few days early. Hakoda was glad. He really hated leaving his children alone for long. Tui knew what those two could get into, what with Sokka's unending well of ideas and Katara's fledgling waterbending skills.

He was just about to announce the happy news to the crew when the alarm rang.

Hakoda ran to the bow of the ship from where the sound came, boomerang in hand, shouting orders at his warriors. "Report!" he barked at the man running in the other direction, evidently to fetch him.

"Small vessel to starboard, looks like it's coming from the north. It's metal, obviously fire nation, but more a life-boat than a ship." Reported the warrior.

Indeed, as he reached the bow, Hakoda could see the small boat, floating lazily on the currents in their general direction. It was metalic, a bit rusty, and seemed to be unoccupied at first glance.  _ Well, this is not suspicious at all,  _ thought the chief dryly.

"Get closer to it," he commanded. "I want to make sure it poses no threat."

The men complied. When the boat was close enough, they shot a harpoon at it, securing a hold and hauling it closer, weapons at the ready in preparation for traps or hiding firebenders. Their hold on those weapons faltered, just a little, when they realized what really was in the small vessel.

They thought it was a bundle of cloth, at first, dirty and torn, red color barely recognizable. And then they noticed a mop of black hair, a small, pale hand sticking out in sharp contrast against the dark metal. Hakoda was cold all of a sudden, as if the frigid polar wind had suddenly found a way right through his parka - that body was too small to be an adult's.

"Seems to be a corpse, chief…" one of the warriors dared break the silence, voice hesitant, laced with all the things he wasn't saying. A  _ child's  _ corpse, the wind seemed to whisper.

"Bring it up" the chief commanded quietly, his heart beating erratically. A child, killed by the fire nation. Heck, he probably  _ was  _ fire nation judging by the colors of his skin and clothes, how could they…? Why?

Finally the small form was brought up, cradled in the hands of one of the crew. He was small, and pale, and far too thin. One side of his face was covered by dirty bandages, and the other showed features that might have been handsome, if they weren't ravaged by hunger and pain. Hakoda's mind scrambled to determine his age, settling somewhere in his early teens. Twelve, probably, a little older than Sokka.

Hakoda was just starting to grimly consider whether a water tribe burial will do to ensure the safe passage of the soul of a fire citizen to the spirit world, when he realized that the child's chest was still moving slightly, rising and falling in shallow, pained breaths. The commands were spilling past his lips before the information had the chance to fully register.

"Tingenek! Warm him up and treat his injuries. He still has a chance to survive this. Everyone else, keep an eye out, in case the ship from which he came is still nearby, though I doubt it. Turn the fleet around, it's time for us to head home."

He passed the small, fragile body into the capable hands of the solemn healer, who then disappeared below deck. The rest of his warriors dispersed, turning to their appointed tasks, though a few of those who were not currently on duty lingered, exchanging murmurs and uneasy glances. Finally one of them nodded decisively to another and turned to address the chief.

"Hakoda," he started, voice low with both uncertainty and determination. "The child is very obviously fire nation. He is the enemy. If he survives these injuries… Tui knows how much trouble one of them could cause in our midst, however young. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

As always, his warriors went straight to the point, unafraid to voice their opinion despite, or maybe because of their fierce loyalty to their leader. Hakoda cultivated such an attitude among his men, and usually their input was invaluable. In delicate situations like this, however, it could cause doubt and dissent if not handled correctly. Hakoda whistled sharply and raised his hand, calling for attention, determined to address the issue before it could spiral out of control.

Once all eyes were on him, and relative quite asserted itself on the ship he began, struggling to contain the sadness and boiling anger that struggled for dominance in his heart. 

"Men, just now we picked a fugitive from the ocean. A child, wounded and frozen and barely alive. A boy, hurt and abandoned by the people who were supposed to protect him - the fire nation." Hakoda waited patiently for the uneasy murmurs to die out before continuing.

"As your chief, I cannot dismiss the possibility that, were he to survive his injuries, the kid will pose a threat to us. And I assure you that if this happens, I will not hesitate to do what is necessary to protect our tribe." 

The murmurs were slightly louder, and more appreciative this time. Hakoda took a deep breath, bracing himself. He needed to make them see, make them understand. In a sense, it was just as important as physically protecting his men - for a people could not survive without its spirit, and killing innocent children wasn't, has never been, something his people should condone, not even in times of war.

"However, until then… I believe we should treat the boy's injuries and help him recover." Silence. The tribesmen waited for him to explain himself.

"Regardless of the nation he was born to, this is a child we are talking about. From the looks of it, he is around twelve. Many of you have sons and daughters of a similar age, me included." He looked around slowly, meeting their eyes one by one. 

"I firmly believe there is nothing a child can do to deserve this fate. And honestly… I don't want to be like them. The fire nation has shown us time and time again what atrocities they are capable of, and this isn't even the worst of what we have seen. But I don't want to stoop to their level. I want to be able to come home, and look at my son and not see the ghost of a kid I could have saved but didn't because of the nation he was born to. I want to be able to say with pride that my people are stronger and better than the fire nation, not only as warriors, but as  _ people _ . So, what do you say? Will you let him stay?"

Hakoda waited. He could have made the decision himself, given the orders, and been done with it. They would have done what he told them, too. But there was a reason why Hakoda was considered one of the greatest chiefs of the southern water tribe in recent history, a reason political strife and wars of succession were practically non-existent since his rise to power. And that was that his people trusted him and knew he trusted them, enough to give them a choice when it really mattered. Like now. 

So he stayed silent and watched them, expression cool and expectant, and waited for them to decide the fate of a child of the enemy. The men looked at each other, exchanging glances and silent conversations the way only people who have spent months together working as one well-oiled mechanism could. Finally Kinaktok, the eldest of the warriors who were still fit for fighting, spoke.

"I say let him stay." He said in his usual gruff manner. "We treat him, and keep watch. If we figure he is dangerous, we get rid of him before he can cause any damage. If not… who knows, maybe we can even get some information out of the brat. Either way, we don't have much to lose." 

Slowly but surely, the others began to voice their assent, some with enthusiastic encouragements, others with reluctant nods, but eventually consensus was reached - the boy stays, at least for now. Hakoda tried not to make his sigh of relief too obvious, masking it instead with an approving nod at his people, and a small bow of thanks to the old warrior. 

A rotation was established to watch their new passenger, and that was that. The southern fleet headed home, their hold full of fish, dried meat and one unconscious prince. Agni's great eye watched from above, and for the first time in a while, the ancient spirit had a measure of hope for his people.

  
  



End file.
